


you can count on me

by sokovianaccords (eurogirl)



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amnesia, F/M, Mission Fic, Steve is found way earlier, but he still has the world's worst luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9007987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurogirl/pseuds/sokovianaccords
Summary: A Christmas mission for Agent Rogers and Agent Carter brings some things to light





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentofvalue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentofvalue/gifts).



> Written as a gift for callsigncarter as part of the Kelly's Marvel Santa exchange on Tumblr
> 
> Title comes from the song "I'll Be Home for Christmas"

The silence was deafening.

Steve looked to his right, where his new partner—the terrifying, beautiful, mysterious Agent Margaret Carter—lounged, the passenger seat of their vehicle just slightly reclined. She stared out the windshield, each puff of breath clearly visible in the freezing interior of the car.

By car, unfortunately, he meant a tiny Trabant. Steve hunched over the steering wheel on his side, his broad shoulders and tall frame not meant for such a small space. He shifted slightly to find some modicum of comfort, but the whole car rocked with the movement. Agent Carter sent him an impatient glance, and he sank back into the driver’s seat, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, as he had just after receiving Erskine’s serum twenty years ago.

He shivered as a gust of winter air wound past the car, the chill flowing through every weak seam and imperfection in the body of the Trabant. Steve shivered—a flash of sense memory overtook him, freezing metal, cold air, the crushing weight of ice—and the car rattled once again, disturbing the silence in the alley.

Agent Carter heaved a sigh, and Steve felt like a new recruit all over again. She reached inside her coat, rooting around for something. He couldn’t explain why, but he reached for something to shield himself, every instinct in his brain screaming _gun_.  She pulled a flask out of her coat, only to see him pressed up against the side door, recoiling away from her hand. He expected her to be puzzled, or even offended, but instead she just grinned, like there was an inside joke he was not privy to.

“Here,” Carter said, the flask in her outstretched hand.

Steve took it automatically, even as he stammered, “I—I don’t—what?”

Carter huffed, though Steve couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or frustration. “It’s whiskey, Ca—Agent Rogers. Meant to take the edge off, just for situations like this one.”

“I can’t—the alcohol doesn’t affect me.”

She shrugged. “It’ll still keep you warm.”

Steve was skeptical, but he took a sip from the flask anyway—anything to escape the chill that had settled into his bones. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice Carter’s gaze drop slightly, just for a second. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that her eyes drifted to his lips.  

But that was impossible.

Steve was not unaware, of course, of the way women looked at him. With the serum had come a lot of attention, and in the twenty years since, he had come to understand the nuances in the prickly feeling of being watched.  There was frank appreciation and bold curiosity and shy glances and malicious evaluation (from both men and women), and Steve had learned how to discern the differences between them.

Carter’s glances, though, didn’t fall into any of those categories. Whenever she looked at him, there was a weight that rested on his shoulders—not oppressive or constricting, but definitely noticeable. As if there was something unfinished or unspoken between them, though Steve didn’t have the slightest clue what it could be.

Steve cleared his throat and passed the flask back to Carter. She took a long gulp and capped the flask with a sigh, leaning back into her seat. Steve already felt warmer—though he told himself it was the alcohol that heated his blood, rather than the way Carter’s tongue ran over her lips to catch a couple errant drops of alcohol.

He shook his head in an attempt to refocus on the mission at hand. People’s lives hung in the balance, and those were not appropriate thoughts to have about a colleague. He knew better.

He repeated that admonition to himself a few times as he scanned the darkened façade of the newspaper office, which doubled as the headquarters for the local resistance movement. Personally, Steve thought that was a little too on the nose—and probably at least one of the causes of their current trouble—but he had chosen to keep that observation to himself.

Carter sat forward suddenly, and Steve followed suit, anxious that he had missed an important clue. This was his first mission back after his accident, and he was eager to prove that he was still capable of field work.

When Carter didn’t move any further, and Steve could not see any change in the stillness of the snow-covered alley, he nudged her shoulder cautiously. “Agent Carter?”

She flopped back in her seat with a sigh. “I thought I saw something, but I must have been mistaken.”

She fixed him with an assessing look as he eased back into his own seat. “You know,” she said, her tone _just_ this side of casual, “I think we’ve reached the point where you can call me Peggy.”

Steve looked at her askance.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, her eyes firmly fixed forward once more. “Sharing a drink is a time-honored espionage tradition, Ca-Agent Rogers. We’ve now bonded, you and I. Besides,” said with a wistful sigh, “it’s almost Christmas, and perhaps the spirit of the holiday is getting to me a little.”

Steve found himself nodding without a second thought. “Alright, Peggy,” he replied, her name rolling off his tongue with unusual ease. Like her name had once been his favorite word.

He shook off the strange thought, adding, “And I guess you can call me Steve.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she said, still facing the windshield. Steve glanced at her reflection in the windshield to see a small smile, though it seemed to be almost melancholic. Like she had gotten exactly what she wanted, but it still wasn’t quite right.

Before Steve could try and puzzle out exactly what her reaction meant—and why her sad smile was a lead weight on his chest—he felt that prickly sensation of someone’s eyes on him, and every hair on the back of his neck stood upright.

He whipped around in his seat, straining to see the source of the stare. The snow covering the street gave off a soft glow, but the shadows and corners were pitch black. Steve scanned the whole street, up and down, and motioned for Peggy to get down out of sight. Instead, he heard the click and slide of a pistol being loaded, but he was too focused to make a point of it at that moment.

Steve spotted something unusual in a window two blocks behind their parked car. The low light caught against a metal object peeking out of an open apartment window.

Steve’s eyes widened and he gasped, “Get down!” He slid to the floorboard, yanking Peggy down with him, just as a bullet flew through each of their headrests.

The barrel of the rifle slid back through the window with an audible scrape of metal against metal, and Steve popped his head up quickly. The would-be assassin turned away from the window, and a silver metal arm with a single red star painted on the shoulder was clearly visible for a split second before the window was once again dark and empty.

Steve swore a blue streak as he scrambled back into his seat. He jammed the keys into the ignition of the tiny car, banging his knees against the dash in his rush. He tore away from the curb and sped through the quiet Dresden streets as fast as he dared in the soft snow. The car fishtailed around a particularly sharp turn, and Peggy slammed her head against the glass.

“Dammit, Steve!”

“Sorry!” Steve spun the steering wheel the other way, careening into a dark alley. He shut the car off and jumped out, motioning for Peggy to follow suit. She shot him a frustrated look as she exited the Trabant, and he knew he would get an earful later.

He rounded the front of the car and grabbed Peggy’s hand, dragging her out of the alley. She squeezed his hand, and he felt something—probably a bone—crack under the pressure.

“We need to disappear,” Steve murmured, pulling Peggy close. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and popped his coat collar to cover his face. Peggy leaned into his shoulder and ducked behind the volume of her scarf, shielding the lower half of her face as well. “We’re about a block away from the _Striezelmarkt_ ,” he continued. “We’ll blend in, try to lose our tail.”

He felt Peggy nod. As they neared the entrance of the Christmas market, Peggy whispered, “Did you see the assassin?”

Steve blew out a breath. “Yeah.” He instinctively pulled her a bit closer, and he felt her arm go around his waist. He pressed his lips to her temple, to mask his next words. “Sniper. Metal arm with a single red star.”

“The Winter Soldier.” Her hand flexed where it rested on his waist. “Bloody Nora,” she breathed.

Steve hummed in agreement as they reached the entrance to the Christmas market. Stalls full of food and artisanal creations lined several side streets, all of which spilled into the main city square. Strings of electric lights crisscrossed above their heads, bathing the entire market in a soft, warm glow. A massive spruce tree stood proud in the middle of the square, draped with lights. In front of the _Rathaus_ stood a large wooden stage. It was flanked on one side by the towering Christmas pyramid, built of wood from the nearby forest and filled with candles. On the other side, the city had constructed a giant Advent calendar—a utilitarian structure devoid of any sort of decoration. The Christmas arch, emblazoned with the words _Dresdener Striezelmarkt_ , stood before the _Kreuzkirche_ , welcoming both locals and visitors into the market.

Steve and Peggy meandered through the market, heads tilted closely together to block out the cold winter night (and any unfriendly eyes). They paused at a stand selling mulled wine and _Stollen,_ a light, airy fruitcake that seemed to be the dessert of choice for all the market-goers. Steve handed over the correct number of marks and thanked the proprietor in quiet German, the bustle around them hopefully masking his strong American accent enough to blend into the rest of the crowd.

Steve spun around to see Peggy bouncing slightly on her toes, color high on her cheeks from the cold. She took the _Stollen_ and mulled wine with a grateful smile, before stuffing half the cake into her mouth. Steve watched, mesmerized, as she devoured the dessert in just a few bites, cheeks puffed out as she chewed.

For a moment, the scenery around them blurred. Steve stood in a clearing, tall trees on every side. Peggy stood a couple yards in front of him, watching a group of men—his unit—set up camp. She alternated between yelling orders at the men and scarfing down her rations as quickly as she could, checks bulging like a chipmunk.

Someone bumped against Steve’s shoulder, jostling him back into the present day. He realized that he was still standing in the same spot, mug in one hand and _Stollen_ in the other, openly staring at Peggy. She had her mug lifted to her lips, one eyebrow raised expectantly.  

Steve shook his head in an attempt to dispel the scene still playing in a loop on his head. “ _Es tut mir leid_ ,” he murmured, trying to keep their cover even through the swirling chaos occupying his mind. It would draw undue attention to be speaking English here, even if the German words took a little longer to spit out. “ _Eine Erinnerung_.”

Peggy nodded sympathetically. “ _Kein problem.”_ She motioned him forward and threaded her arm through his.

Her hand slid up to his bicep as she gently pulled him through the market, only pausing to marvel at the hand-carved wooden ornaments and nutcrackers, or to sample the Pulsnitz gingerbread, or to catch a few errant snowflakes on her tongue. The heat from her fingertips seeped through his several layers of clothing and set his skin ablaze. If he were to strip down right there, Steve was sure he would find five scorch marks, perfectly oval, surrounding his upper arm.

They circled back to return their mugs, which Steve used as an opportunity to gently extricate himself from her grasp. Her touch was maddening—just on the edge of familiar, which made no sense, and immensely distracting—and he needed to focus on keeping them both alive and out of the hands of the Winter Soldier.

Steve leaned down, lips accidentally brushing against the shell of Peggy’s ear, and whispered, low enough that only she could hear him, “I think we’ve been here long enough. One more circuit around the market, and then the long way back to the hotel should be enough to shake him.”

Peggy shivered and pursed her lips. Without any sort of warning, she spun on her heel and lifted herself onto her toes, bringing her eyes level with his chin. With a frustrated huff, she wound her arms around his neck and yanked him down so that his ear was right at the level of her mouth, his nose planted in the space where her neck met her shoulder.

“ _Friedrichstrasse_ is our best option. I have two hats and a pair of glasses with me, which should be enough to throw him off long enough to get away,” she said, her voice breezy and warm against Steve’s cheek.

He nodded dazedly. In some part of the back of his brain, he was impressed by her tradecraft. The rest of him, though, was consumed with the tantalizing hint of perfume filling his nose, the scent soft, understated, and achingly familiar. He pulled back just a few inches, his gaze meeting Peggy’s. She watched him steadily, one eyebrow raised, like she was waiting for him to catch up. He was struck with the realization, the certainty, that he had been in this exact same position before, with the exact same woman staring at him impatiently, like she didn’t have all day for him to pull his head out of wherever he had lodged it. In the scenarios he was picturing, though, the woman had been running her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head, lighting all his nerves on fire.

Just as he could feel her doing now.

Steve pulled away abruptly, the pull of a possible memory distorting his perception of the current reality in a way he could not afford. His subconscious was toying with him, supplanting Agent Carter’s face on a past love, which was dangerous for many reasons, not the least of which being that they were probably still in the crosshairs of a dangerous assassin.

He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he murmured, offering his arm to her. She accepted with a smile, barely there but still visible, and they took one more turn around the _Striezelmarkt_ together.

He slipped on the eyeglasses—plain lenses, but believable enough from a distance—and a black cap, obscuring his blond hair. As they passed the stage, Peggy swept her long curls into a messy twist and pulled a knitted winter cap over her head. A few dark strands escaped the hat, framing Peggy’s face as they fluttered in the wind.

It was an enchanting sight.

Peggy steered them toward _Friedrichstrasse_ with purpose, throwing Steve flirty glances over her shoulder as he followed right on her heels. Intellectually, he knew that each heated look was part of their cover—a husband and wife touring Dresden together, currently rushing back to their hotel to find some privacy—but he couldn’t deny the flush in his cheeks or the speed of his heartbeat or the shivers down his spine from the promise in his partner’s gaze. Not even to himself.

To his surprise, Peggy did not drop the act once they reached the quiet darkness of the empty street. She threaded her fingers through his and leaned into his left side, content to stroll through the Dresden streets, not a word between them. Something settled in Steve’s chest as they went, the sharp edge of constant uncertainty dulled by Peggy’s presence. The inherent rightness of having her by his side was inexplicable and yet comforting, the first thing that made sense since he woke up two months before, pieces of his memory stolen by a toxin designed specifically to kill him. It had, thankfully, not achieved its prime objective, and the missing memories had been returning much quicker than expected, thanks to Dr. Erskine’s serum. Still, though, he felt wrong-footed at every turn, a stranger in his own time.

The earth finally felt solid, unmoving beneath his feet as he walked beside her.

He felt Peggy lean harder on his arm, and the cadence of her steps shifted abruptly, almost as if she had tripped over a cobblestone. He reached out to steady her, but she shook her head. And then he heard it, booted feet crunching through the snow behind them. Steve clenched is free hand into a fist and thought fast, all his long-dormant tactical knowledge rearing its head. They needed an exit, and they needed it fast.

Before he could come up with anything coherent, Peggy let out a high-pitched giggle and tugged him toward a dark alley. He followed, bemused. He had only known her for a short time, but that sound seemed highly uncharacteristic.

His mind was still working on their escape route when she leaned back against the brick exterior of a building and pulled him forward by the lapels. He stumbled into her, sandwiching her between his body and the building. His hands landed on either side of her head, the cold brick rough against his skin. His eyes widened at their proximity, her sparkling brown eyes only inches from his own.

Peggy’s lips tilted upward, the same melancholic smile from the Trabant gracing her face. “Sorry, Steve.”

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask, she pulled him down to her level and pressed her lips against his.

Her lips were soft. Soft and warm and strong and better than Steve had ever dreamed. His eyes drifted shut as their mouths moved slowly together, the best kind of dance. Peggy’s right hand carded through the hairs at the back of his neck, and Steve sank into her with a moan. She smiled against his lips and parted her legs slightly, allowing him to slip a knee between hers until there was no space between them. Steve’s skin felt hot and tingly, aching for her touch anywhere he could get it. The alley, the snow, the mission all faded away in the heat of their embrace, the feel of her clever tongue against his own, their gasping breaths visible in the moonlight.

Peggy moaned into his mouth and ran a thumb along the edge of his jaw, and Steve’s head spun. He grabbed her left hand from where it rested on his chest and twined their fingers together, desperate to have her skin on his. He pressed closer and rested their clasped hands above Peggy’s head, which gave him perfect access to the smooth skin of her neck. He placed tender, open-mouthed kisses down the slope of her neck, her soft sighs of enjoyment the only sounds Steve ever wanted to hear again.

She squeezed his hand unconsciously, and through his haze of desire, he felt cold metal slide against his ring finger. He dropped her hand and stepped back abruptly, all the warmth that had surrounded him gone, taken by the cool gold band adorning her left hand.

They stood two feet apart in that tiny alley, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breaths. Peggy still leaned against the brick wall, and she looked deliciously disheveled. Her hat had fallen somewhere on the ground, her curls were in disarray, and her bright red lipstick was smeared. Steve wanted nothing more than to fall back into her arms—nothing since waking up had felt as right as their embrace. But he couldn’t, and he knew that would never happen again. In that moment, Steve was sure he had just lost something precious.

He cleared his throat, unable to meet Peggy’s eyes. “I think he’s gone.”

Peggy scrutinized Steve’s face, carefully searching his expression for a clue of some kind. Whatever she found must have answered her question, because she ran a hand through her hair to bring it back to some semblance of order and then nodded once, firmly. “Right.”

She pushed away from the wall, and they exited the alleyway together. Unlike before, they walked parallel to one another, not touching. Her perfume wafted through the air, the sweetest of temptations, but Steve clenched his jaw and stayed on his side of the invisible barrier between them. To do anything else would be dangerous, for the integrity of the mission and his own self-control. He felt her eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, their breaths visible in the cold winter air.

\------

Peggy made a beeline for the heater as soon as Steve opened the door to their hotel room. He stood in the doorway, a little surprised, as she turned it on to its highest setting and then began shedding layers. She spun around on stockinged feet, untucked blouse fluttering as she went.

She noticed his bemused stare and smiled. “Sorry, I should have asked. It’s habit at this point—my husband absolutely hates the cold, but he’ll suffer in silence rather than say anything.” She shrugged. “I tend to run warm, especially after an op, but I make do. I can turn it off, if you like?”

Steve shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t like the cold much myself.” He tried to keep his tone light, even though he could still feel the ice of the Arctic deep in his bones most days. (The night that memory came back had been a particularly horrible one.)

Peggy’s eyes softened, but instead of the pity he was expecting, he found only quiet sympathy. “Alright then.”

Steve locked and bolted the door. He debated placing a chair in front of it, to buy them a few precious seconds in case the Winter Soldier came calling, but he decided that could be saved until they turned in for the night. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and slipped off his shoes and coat as Peggy moved through her nightly routine. They had been on this mission for over a week, but for the first time, he felt uncomfortable. Their dynamic had shifted in that dark alleyway, and now, watching her pin her hair felt decidedly intimate.

To lose himself in this cover was an unbearable temptation, but he had withstood worse.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Steve murmured, eyes riveted to his hands as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

“How’s that?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I’m—”

“Steve.”

She sat in front of the vanity, facing the mirror. Steve raised his head and caught a split-second glance at her reflection before she turned to face him fully. The grief in her eyes was a direct hit to his solar plexus, but by the time she had turned around, it was replaced by wry amusement.

“If you recall, I am the one who kissed you, so if anyone should be apologizing, it would be me. If I made you uncomfortable or—”

“No,” Steve burst out. He replayed his overeager answer back in his head, and before she could think he had any untoward intentions, he backpedaled, stammering, “I mean—it wasn’t any—I don’t—”

“Besides,” Peggy interjected, before he could make an absolute ass of himself, “it’s hardly the first time an agent has used that particular method of distraction.”

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Steve said, though he wasn’t quite sure where the words came from.

“You remember your handbook,” Peggy said, her smile suddenly brittle. “Yes. My husband and I wrote that particular section together.”

“When you say you _wrote_ that section—”

She sighed and turned back to the vanity, her expression blank. “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you, Steve. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’m actually not an agent of SHIELD. I’m the director.”

“The director?” Steve ran a hand through his hair as he processed the new information.

“Yes.” Peggy tapped her nails on the vanity and avoided meeting his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “I was assigned to this mission months ago, my husband and I, due to its…strange nature.” She shrugged. “There were rumors of a new HYDRA offshoot forming, as well as possible ties to Leviathan, and since I have the most experience with these particular groups, the leadership and I determined my presence could be helpful. My husband was the other agent assigned to the case, but there was an incident that necessitated the change of plans.”

“What kind of—” Steve began to ask, but at the sight of Peggy’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of the vanity, he quickly changed his line of questioning. “Tell me about him?”

“My husband?”

He nodded.

That melancholic smile from the car was back in full force. “He’s…endlessly kind. And terribly smart. And you wouldn’t know it from looking at him, but he is wickedly funny, with this dry, sarcastic sense of humor that leaves me in stitches.” She rested her chin in her hand with a sigh, her thoughts far from the tiny hotel room. “He’s so brave, and thoughtful, and he never, ever hangs up his shirts.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and Peggy’s cheeks flushed.

“Sorry,” she muttered, carefully examining the flat surface of the vanity. “I miss him rather terribly, though you’d think I would be used to that by now.”

Steve sat forward, intrigued. “Why is that?”

Peggy’s words were slow, measured, a practiced tale. “We met during the war. I was with the SSR, the precursor to SHIELD, and he was recruited to our division for a special mission, of sorts. We fell in love between missions and debriefs, in the middle of air raids and gunfire. Back then, our relationship was a collection of moments. Lovely moments, certainly, but we didn’t have the chance for anything beyond an understanding. A mutual desire to build something together after the war.

“He was declared missing in action just a few months before V-E Day,” she continued, her voice like glass. “I didn’t see him for ten years.”

“But he came back?”

Peggy bit her lip, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly to dispel them. “He came home. He was the best Christmas gift I had ever received.”

“So you got married,” Steve prompted. For some reason he could not name, and despite his own attraction to her, Steve was compelled by the story of Peggy and her husband, desperate to know how it turned out.

“No, not right away. His first year back was…difficult,” Peggy replied distantly. “Ten years is a very long time. So much had changed, and the transition—it almost tore us apart.”

They sat silent for a long moment before Steve, unable to help himself, burst out, “But you made it through, right?”

Peggy twisted her wedding ring absent-mindedly. That sad smile was back, but Steve noticed a hint of hope that hadn’t been there before. “We did. And we made it through the two months I was held prisoner, and the meetings with the adoption agency, and the assassination attempt, and the utter disaster in Beirut, and every other obstacle that’s popped up in front of us.”

She whirled around in her chair, eyes blazing, pinning Steve to his perch on the edge of the bed. “And by God, we will make it through this too.”

Steve still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened with Peggy’s husband, but as he she stared him down, fire in her gaze, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everything would be resolved. If only he could be that sure about the return of his memories.

\---

Steve woke abruptly, as he always did when he slept in a bed other than his own. The morning light streamed through the half-open curtains, cold and bright. He sat up and stretched, scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. He had been confident that they had evaded the Winter Soldier the night before, and it seemed that he had been right. Steve felt better somehow, more rested and warm than he had for the past few months, though he couldn’t put his finger on what had changed.

He looked to his right, and there, tangled in the sheets, was his beautiful wife. She had always slept like the dead, as long as he had known her, no matter where she drifted off. It amused him endlessly, finding her dozing as she leaned against a wall after a late-night briefing, or conked out on top of their kitchen counter, one hand cradling her favorite box of biscuits.

He ran a gentle hand over the back of her head, the only part of her that was outside her cocoon. She was not a calm sleeper, and he tugged gently at the curls that had escaped the pins as she had tossed and turned through the night.

She growled at the interruption to her sleep and shifted away from his touch. The sheets fell away from her shoulders, baring the soft skin of her neck, which gave Steve an idea.

He leaned over Peggy and placed a gentle kiss at the spot where her shoulder met her neck. He left a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her neck, enjoying her soft sighs as he made his way up.

“Pegs, wake up,” he murmured, nuzzling the spot right under her ear in the way he knew she liked. When she didn’t respond, he nipped at her jaw and blew on the shell of her ear until she shifted back against his chest.

“Steve,” she laughed, blindly reaching for his face, “I’m sleeping.”

“You’ve been sleeping all night,” he retorted, kissing the back of her neck and gently removing her hairpins, so that he could run his fingers through her dark curls. She hummed and pushed herself further into his embrace, the warmth of her skin soaking through her pajamas and making Steve’s heart race.

“That’s what people do at night, Steve, remember?” He snorted and wrapped an arm around her waist as he leaned in to give her a proper kiss.

Just before his lips touched hers, she gasped and sat straight up, knocking him off balance. He scrambled for something to catch his fall, but his flailing sent him right over the edge of the bed. His back hit the floor hard, and he let out an undignified yelp.

Her head popped over the edge of the bed, half of her hair still pinned, and the other half cascading over her face. “Steve,” she gasped, “you called me Pegs.”

“What are you talking about?” he groused, rubbing his tailbone. “I’ve always called you that, ever since…” Steve’s voice trailed off, eyes the size of saucers. “I called you Pegs. You’re my wife. We got married January 12th, 1957, a year after I was found off the coast of Greenland.”

He jumped to his feet and tackled Peggy to the bed, alternating between peppering every visible inch of her skin with kisses and reciting every fact he now remembered about her. “You always put the milk in before the tea. We missed our honeymoon because of a mission. I always leave my shirts in a pile on the floor and it drives you nuts. You know how to play the piano, but you refuse to play anything by Bach.  The only time you’ve ever picked up a spatula was to bash an intruder’s head in. Our first dance was to ‘It’s Been A Long, Long Time,’ and I cried through the whole song, and _you_ stepped on _my_ toes.”

Peggy hooked a leg around his hip and flipped them over. Steve gaped at her as she loomed over him, a vision in the cool morning light. She rubbed a thumb over his lips, and he melted into her touch. The heat of arousal danced over his skin as she straddled him, her lips quirked up in a smile finally free of sadness. There was nothing but love and joy in her eyes as she leaned down and kissed him deeply. His eyes drifted shut as her tongue tangled with his and her cold hands roamed over his torso, memorizing a once-familiar map.

“Peggy,” he gasped as she placed open-mouthed kisses along the line of his jaw and down his neck. He weaved his fingers into her hair, the few remaining hair pins falling to the sheets. “God, Peg.”

Through the haze of arousal that had overtaken him as they pressed against one another, Steve heard a small sniffle. He froze, the hand that had been exploring the curve of her spine pausing between her shoulder blades. They were still for a moment, and then Steve felt hot tears roll down his neck. He tugged Peggy’s curls gently, and she lifted her head, eyes red.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I missed you terribly, my darling,” she rasped, brushing light fingers across his cheek. “You were so far away, Steve, even as you sat right by my side, and there was nothing I could do to bring you back.”

Steve sat up and cupped Peggy’s face in both his hands, brushing her tears away with a careful caress. “I’ll always come home to you, Peggy. You can count on me, I promise.”

She searched his face, and he held himself still under her scrutiny. After a moment, she nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He gathered her into his arms and placed a hard kiss on her temple. And in that moment, as the cathedral’s bells rang in the distance, all was calm.   

**Author's Note:**

> "Es tut mir leid" - I'm sorry
> 
> "Eine Erinnerung" - A memory
> 
> "Kein Problem" - No problem
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!


End file.
